


Happy Little Fantasy

by sapphic_ambitions



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, lifetime loves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_ambitions/pseuds/sapphic_ambitions
Summary: Okay so I'm gonna share my happy little fantasy. Okay, ready? Good. Quentin, instead of dying, decides he wants to live. And so he does.ORPicks up right at the campfire. Penny brings him back and we get the Queliot reunion we deserved. Then, Q and Eliot give up the world-saving business to spend the rest of their lives together. They work through their trauma together and most importantly: they’re happy.





	1. I Want to Live

**Author's Note:**

> Hey pals! I've been posting this fic on my tumblr (sapphic-ambitions) and now I'm bringing it here! There is more to come! Please enjoy my happy little fantasy, and remember to take care of yourselves after the finale! Sending love and hugs!

Sure , okay. I hate it, but Quentin dies, and meets Penny 40 in the Underworld. They do the Secrets to the Grave thing. Whatever. It’s bullshit. Penny takes him to the campfire, and Quentin sees his friends mourning him. But this is where his story begins, not ends. 

\---

A catastrophic wave of emotions watches over Quentin and he feels like he can’t breathe, which is weird, as a dead man. He knows this is the moment he’s supposed to be grateful, watching how deeply everyone is mourning him. He’s sure not everyone gets this perk, but he happens to have an in with an Underworld employee. He knows this is supposed to give him the peace he needs to move on. But he stops, shakes his head, and turns to Penny.

“I’m not ready,” Quentin says.

Penny raises his eyebrows. “What?” 

“These people love me. And I love them.” He turns back to his friends, sees Margo and Kady and Alice and Julia, poor Julia, his best friend, barely holding it together. He sees Eliot, his Eliot, alive and well and Quentin wants nothing more to grab him by his vest and pull him close. To hold him and cry into his shoulder and confess his love all over again. To say he’s sorry for leaving him all over again. To swear to never leave him again as long as he lives. 

“Quentin?” Penny asks. Quentin makes up his mind. 

“I’ve got more fight in me. This is not how my story ends.” He watches all of his friends throw his memory in the fire, singing this stupid fucking song, and looks at Penny. “I want to live,”

Penny smiles at him, and claps his hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “There’s the nerd I know,” Quentin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and his mouth opens but before he can say anything, Penny continues. “I’m not technically allowed to do this, but I’ll make an exception for an old friend,” Quentin chokes back a sob. Penny hugs him, and then shakes his hand. “Tell the gang I said hey. And I better not see you for another few decades, Coldwater,”

Quentin blinks, and Penny’s gone. Quentin isn’t sure that it actually worked and that he’s actually back but he can smell the fire and feel the wind. He turns back to his friends, who are so caught up in their singing (why did it have to be this stupid song) and staring so dramatically into the fire that they don’t look at him, if he’s even there at all. Quentin holds his breath. He watches, heart crushing into his chest, as Eliot pulls out a peach. Eliot kisses the peach and throws it into the fire and Quentin knows this is the moment.

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker,” Quentin says, loud and clear. 

Eliot’s head snaps towards him, eyes wide. Everyone stops singing, and Quentin can feel them holding their breath, can feel all of their eyes on him, unsure if he’s really there. But Quentin isn’t looking at them. He’s staring dead in the eyes of Eliot, his lifetime love, his soul mate, his plum. 

Quentin smiles. “I’m alive out here,”

It takes seconds for Eliot to cross the fire. Before Quentin takes his next breath--and it’s a real breath that proves he’s alive--Eliot has him pulled into a massive hug. The taller man wraps his arms around him and Quentin sinks into the hug. He hugs Eliot like it’s the only thing holding him to this earth and suddenly he’s crying. Quentin is crying into Eliot’s clothes and he breathes in the familiar scent of his love. He thinks Eliot is crying too, but he’s not sure until Eliot finally pulls away and holds Quentin’s head in his hands.

“You died,” Eliot chokes out, eyes filled with tears.

Quentin can’t help but laugh, and nods. “I died,” He reaches up and takes Eliot’s hands into his own. “But I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere,” He stares up into Eliot’s eyes, just like he did that day in the park, just like he did for fifty years. And then Eliot is kissing him. 

It’s as natural as breathing. It’s a kiss they’ve had a thousand times before and yet like they’re kissing for the first time. Quentin wraps his arm around Eliot’s waist and pulls him closer at the same time that Eliot wraps his hand around Quentin’s neck. They kiss like the star-crossed lovers they are, and for a moment Quentin forgets the world around him.

And then he hears Margo throw out a “What the fuck?” And they break apart, both grinning from ear to ear. Quentin turns back to the group, who are all on their feet at this point and staring at him with dropped jaws. Quentin squeezes Eliot’s hand in reassurance before stepping forward to greet the rest of the group.

“Hey, guys,” Quentin grins. “Penny says hey,”


	2. We Survived, and So Can You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q & El figure out: what's next?

Quentin and Eliot take a break. Not from each other, _gods_ no. From the whole “saving the world” thing. After months of being separated by the Monster and after both of them dying one way or the other, they agree to take a step back, together.

To take a pause.

To take a breath.

To take time to heal.

To learn to love each other again.

The group wholeheartedly supports their choice. Kady and Penny 23 don’t actually super care, but they promise to check in and say hello every now and then. Alice actually seems a little relieved, and by the looks she’s giving Kady, Quentin knows that she’s going to be just fine. Julia and Margo are thrilled by this, the chance for their best friends to just _live_. But they agree on one condition: they live somewhere easily accessible so they can visit often and regularly.

Quentin and Eliot move to Upstate New York.

They buy an old cabin in the middle of the woods that’s been abandoned for a while. The real estate agent is surprised that they want to take on such a project but it’s in the middle of a clearing and next to a stream and has echoes of the mosaic everywhere. It’s not the same as their home in Fillory. It’s different. Larger, a bit more run down and needing a lot of love to fix it up. There’s plumbing and electricity and air conditioning and internet, which is a blessing. There’s only one sun and _their_ son is not running around the mosaic tiles, but it’s just similar enough to make them both smile.

The cabin is also fifteen minutes away from Brakebills, and the first piece of furniture that goes into their home is the Fillory Clock. Margo can now come and go as she pleases, but they do ask her to at least send a bunny before hand. Julia, who’s accepted a teaching job at Brakebills, is also welcome to come over whenever, but they do ask her to send a text message before hand. But unless either of them are visiting, it’s just Q & El.

The first few weeks are a quiet time.

Eliot is still healing and jumpy at every loud noise. Quentin is still reeling from his suicide attempt and miraculous return. A lot of time is just spent holding each other, whispering confessions and fears and secrets and promises. They make sure to take the time to actually talk through their trauma with each other and with Margo and with Julia and with the resident therapist at Brakebills. Fogg allows them both to see the therapist regularly, free of charge, despite the fact that they’re no longer students.

But they begin the process of healing, understanding that it’s going to take time.

One morning, they’re sitting in their kitchen, drinking coffee in a comfortable silence when Quentin remarks that the cabinets would look good painted white. And that the walls would be better as a peach color. Eliot grins in that way he does for Quentin.

“Are you going Bobby Berk on my ass, Coldwater?” Eliot teases.

Quentin smiles and for a second he wants to hide it in his mug, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t need to anymore.

Eliot had kind of assumed that he would be doing to bulk work in designing and fixing up the place. And it’s true, he might have a slightly better eye for it that his partner, _(his partner)_ but Quentin enjoys the work. He enjoys quietly puttering around the cabin and mending the broken pieces. He enjoys going with Eliot to the store and giving his opinions on paint colors and curtain patterns. He even surprises Eliot one day by coming back from the store with an armload of small paint cans and brushes, rambling on about how he wants to paint a mosaic on that open wall in their bedroom and why it would be a good idea. Quentin wants to say “I know it’s stupid” but he doesn’t. He says “I want to paint a mosaic pattern on that empty wall in our room,” Eliot answers with a solid yes and then kisses him.

Communication has become the most important thing they’ve had to work on. If they’re going to be partners _(and they agree on the term partners for now, fully committed to each other, forever and ever amen)_ they need to be open about what they want and what they fear. On everything, from conversations about commitment and love to deciding that Fillorian rustic boho chic is the look they’re going for in their designs. And it’s hard. And it feels good. Some days it’s easy for Eliot to say “I’ve always been afraid of commitment because of what I saw my parents go through,” and then on the same day it’s hard for him to say “I don’t think that’s a good spot to put the new table,” So it’s a give and take.

Margo comes over for dinner after they’ve completely finished fixing the place up. She’s been over enough times to see the progress as it was happening, but to see it all finished leaves her breathless. Eliot can tell she’s trying not to get choked up from seeing her two best friends genuinely happy with each other and their home when she remarks that they’re giving Chip and Joanna a run for their money. Quentin and Eliot cook dinner for the three of them, and Margo secretly smiles at how the two work together in the kitchen. Like they’re a machine, working together in perfect tandem. She’s always had her bets on these two living happily ever after, and it’s nice to see she was right about it all along.

When Margo leaves and they’re cleaning up the kitchen, Eliot remarks that it feels like this is what would have happened if Jack and Ennis got their happily ever after. Quentin doesn’t know what he’s talking about which makes Eliot’s jaw hit the floor and so they curl up on the couch and watch Brokeback Mountain. Which, Eliot thinks is a great idea until Quentin is sobbing his eyes out and Eliot can only hold him tight. He can only press kisses to the top of his head and rub his back to calm his partner down.

“You know I love you so much, right?” Quentin chokes out through the sobs.

Eliot has to blink away his own tears and tells Quentin yes, he knows, and he loves him back. He loves him to the ends of the Earth and to the ends of Fillory and the ends of the Neitherlands and the ends of the Library and to the ends of Cuba. And he peppers kisses onto Quentin’s face and wipes away his tears.

The sex is great that night.

Quentin begins writing a book. Several months after the start of their new life, they both figure they’ve got to do something with their lives, as their money will eventually run down and they’ll need to stop lending money from Fillory or Fogg. And Quentin decides he wants to write a kids book, like _Fillory and Further_ , but better. He’s telling Eliot about it one night over the fire pit in their backyard, about how he wants to write a fantasy series focused on queer characters. And how no matter what those queer characters will go through, they’re going to get a happy ending. Because Quentin wants to give that kind of representation that he never had to young queer kids. And then it’s Eliot’s turn to cry while Quentin rubs his back and peppers him with kisses.

Eliot doesn’t know what he wants to do.

He has a hard time admitting it, but he never thought he’d live til his 30s, so he never really had a plan. _(It’s hard for Quentin to hear that.)_ But he’s inspired by Quentin and his desire to give back.. So Eliot begins working at a shelter for LGBT youth in New York City. They enchant one of the unused closets in their home to be a doorway to Eliot’s new job (which they both find hysterically ironic) and now he has a job and purpose. Working with queer youth and helping them get back on their feet is _really_ good for Eliot. He can identify with a lot of them who’ve left abusive homes, those who seem to be heading down the dangerous addiction path, those who seem to be struggling to get out of bed.

And Eliot shows them that it will take time and work, but it gets better.

And he shows a lot of kids that they have a right to exist as themselves in the world.

And sometimes he brings Quentin, just to show them that is possible to overcome tragedy and deal with their trauma in a healthy way. To show them that two queer men are allowed to live and have their happily ever after.

“See? Look at my dastardly handsome partner.” He jokes to a room of teens, sending a sly smile to Quentin. Q is looking at him like Eliot hung the moon and he can’t get enough of it.

Eliot takes his partner’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “We survived, and so can you,”


	3. We Found A Cat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q & El talk triggers and welcome the newest member of their family. Fen makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really like Chapter 2.5 because it's just a little fluff bit insert.

Quentin is sitting on their bed, working away at his book.

It’s going really well so far, the writing.  _(The two main characters are a pair of best friends and are absolutely based off of Quentin and Julia.)_  Relaxed and content, he writes, enjoying the quiet click-clack sounds of the keyboard in the empty house. Fen came to visit today, as she does sometimes, and Eliot took her out into the forest to run around. 

As High Queen of Fillory, Fen doesn’t really get a lot of time to just blow off steam and have fun. And Eliot is not good at either of those things, so when the pair gets together, they become like children again. Now that they don’t have to play husband and wife  _(and Eliot having his partner and Fen having her wife)_ , they actually really enjoy each other’s company. Fen brings out a youthful joy in Eliot, and Quentin likes it. The pair has been gone for a few hours, not quite long enough to be worrisome, but just long enough that Quentin is starting to get antsy for their return.

And then the front door bangs open. And then he hears Eliot’s loud, booming voice.

“Quentin! Quentin! Come here right the  _fuck_  now!”

Quentin is sure his heart falls out of his ass. He flings himself out of their bed, and runs towards the sounds of his partner’s voice. A million terrible scenarios run through his brain and he feels a little bit like he can’t breathe and he’s half expecting Eliot to be wearing a graphic tee and covered in blood. Quentin practically flings himself into their living room, hands shaking, and sees Eliot holding a  _cat_.

A kitten, really.

And Eliot is dressed the same way he was when he left the house, no blood in sight. No Fen in sight either, but that was less concerning, she could take care of herself.  All Quentin could think about was that Eliot was standing up right and in front of him and healthy and safe and….holding a cat?

There was a wide grin on Eliot’s face that would have never been there in Quentin’s first year at Brakebills. Gone are the days where Eliot feels he has to hide his happiness in snide and sarcastic remarks, and the pure joy on his face is a delight, even if it doesn’t quite distract from Quentin’s panic. “We found a cat!” Eliot proclaims, holding out the kitten for Quentin to see. “She was all alone out there in the woods. I raced her back here as soon as I could. Fen is coming too, but I have longer legs and-” Eliot finally really looks at a very pale Quentin. “Q? Are you alright?”

 _Not fucking really_ , is the answer he wants to give. Quentin is trying very much to hold back his tears and trying very hard not to start hyperventilating. Memories of living with the Monster flash through Quentin’s mind in a dizzying array of blood and violence and Quentin definitely sways a little bit.  Eliot’s face shifts from joy to a concern and he quickly crosses to the other man.

“I just,” Quentin chokes, trying to look anywhere but Eliot’s eyes. “I just heard the bang and, um, I heard you screaming, and I just…” He can’t continue, and he feels so  _fucking_ embarrassed. Eliot came in looking happier than he has in months and he ruined it with his stupid paranoia. But Eliot’s eyes get wide and realization passes over his face.

“Oh, Q, I’m so sorry,” Eliot wraps his arm around Quentin’s shoulders and pulls him tighter. Quentin relaxes into Eliot’s touch, the voices in his head quieting a little bit.  “I’m sorry. We talked about triggers, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate,” and Quentin knows he means it.

He presses his head against Eliot’s chest and sighs. He wants to apologize again, for being dramatic or taking away Eliot’s joyful expression but as he listens to Eliot’s heartbeat, his fears and anxieties calm to just a whisper. And he knows that’s not how he should respond.  _(Thanks, therapy.)_  So instead he says:

“Thank you for listening to me and for understanding my concerns,”

Eliot kisses the top of his head. “Of course, my love,” Quentin presses his face completely into Eliot, breathing in the combined scent of his designer cologne and the woods outside. It’s intoxicating.

“We’re not keeping the cat,” Quentin muffles.

“Oh, yes, we are,” Eliot laughs, and brings the cat up to Quentin’s face for it to meow and sniff him. It is a cute cat, but he always thought they’d get a dog. As if he was reading his mind, Eliot rolls his eyes and teases: “We can still get a dog and have a cat, Q. Besides, I thought you liked it both ways.”

Quentin laughs so loud it startles the kitten. Okay, maybe they’d keep the cat.

And then Fen bursts in the door, breathless and wearing the same shit eating grin Eliot had on earlier. “Quentin!” She exclaims. “We found a cat!”

Fen insists that the cat be named Mini Margo, to which both men agree, but once she leaves Eliot turns to Quentin like he’s about to burst and says: 

“Mini Margo-rita.”

And so Mini Margo-rita becomes Quentin’s writing buddy, curled up on his shoulders while his fingers click-clack against the keyboard. 


	4. The Coldwater-Waughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q & El talk marriage.

Quentin and Eliot talk about the concept of marriage. **  
**

At first, it’s a sensitive subject, brought on because Margo and Fen are getting married. It’s been almost a year since the Monster and since they started living together.

They dance around it. They both know for a fact that they want to live the rest of their lives together  _(forever and ever amen)_  but they’re both still healing and having a hard time talking about their feelings. Quentin feels like it shouldn’t be a big deal to talk about it, since they were  _kind of_  already married in a previous timeline. And Quentin has also been vocal about wanting to get married to Eliot. But El is nervous and doesn’t know how to talk about his nervousness to Q without making it sound like he doesn’t love him. Because he loves him  _so_ much. Marriage is just terrifying to him, and he’s not ready yet.

Eliot never really thought he’d get married. The concept as a whole was something he protested as a teen and then in college and then at Brakebills when he was bouncing from boyfriend to boyfriend. He’s a gay man from Indiana. Marriage has never even been on the  _table_. Quentin doesn’t understand that, but he tries to. Quentin’s dad had always been accepting of his sexuality, from the time he came out in undergrad to when he told his dad about Eliot and the mosaic right before he passed. But he knows this is hard for Eliot. So he doesn’t push. Q knows they’ll talk when he’s ready.

A few months after Fargo’s wedding  _(Fen insisted on using this hashtag, despite not having a smartphone herself),_  Eliot comes into the kitchen while Quentin is cooking dinner and explodes into a tirade.

He goes on about divorce rates for couples who get married after they’ve moved in together and the homophobia that queer men face when they’re trying to get married and why marriage as a construct is just the government’s way of enforcing gender roles and how the tax benefit isn’t even that great and how they don’t need a flashy ceremony in order to commit to each other for the rest of their lives and he goes on and on and on. Quentin just listens with open ears and open hearts as his partner rants, understanding that Eliot just needs to get it off his chest and out of his system.

Eliot finishes with a deep inhale, his eyes watching Q quietly stir the boiling pasta.

“Is that what I sound like?” Quentin asks, putting down the wooden spoon. “Like all the time?”

Eliot, who previously had this  _terrified_  look on his face, laughs, and nods. Quentin smiles at him, pours the pasta into the strainer, and slings his hand towel over his shoulder before making his way over to Eliot. He takes the taller man’s hands into his own and squeezes them.

“El, those are all valid reasons to not get married,” Quentin says. “If you really don’t want to do the rings and ceremony and government bullshit, we don’t have to. I’m content to just spend the rest of my life with you,”

Q really thought that what he said would make Eliot feel better, but instead Eliot seems to be blinking back tears. Whatever Eliot wants to say is clearly embarrassing him, so Quentin just waits while Eliot clears his throat.  _(Patience and listening, therapy taught them.)_

“But I wanna be able to say “That’s my husband!” when we’re out,” Eliot says, looking down, voice breaking. “And I want to prove my father wrong when he said I would never get married. Is that bad?”

Quentin uses his thumb to wipe away the tear tracks on Eliot’s face. “No, El, it’s not bad,”

Quentin looks back at the pasta and the boiling vegetables and the sautéing chicken. “I think this conversation has been productive, but unless you want burnt chicken for dinner, I think we should continue it at a later date”

Eliot exhales and nods and Q knows he's grateful for the topic change. That was probably more emotions talk than Eliot had given in months. So Quentin kisses his cheek and goes back to cooking and Eliot smiles.  “I love it when you get domestic on me, Coldwater,” 

A later date rolls around.

They’re walking through a park, hand in hand, and Quentin furrows his brow. “If we were to get married,” he states, sort of out of the blue, “Would we do a hyphenated last name? Or some kind of joint name? Would I take your last name? Would you take mine? How does this work?”

Eliot smiles. “You ask a lot of questions, Coldwater”

Quentin gasps, and sends Eliot a shit-eating grin. “The Coldwaughters,”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “No,”

“Get it?”

“Unfortunately,”

“Like Coldwater but with Waugh instead of water?”

“Hush, Q,”

“It would be fantastic!”

Eliot shuts him up with a kiss, and Quentin doesn’t complain. Q can also tell that Eliot is trying very hard not to laugh about it, too. It feels good, honestly, to be having this conversation so casually. And in public. And to be holding hands with his partner in public. And to kiss his partner in public. There’s a happy twinge in his chest as they laugh to themselves.

Eliot’s mouth twitches. “I kind of like Coldwater-Waugh,” Quentin thinks he could melt.

One night, they’re sitting around the fire pit in their backyard, drinking wine out of coffee mugs and enjoying the peace of the evening. Fireside lounging at night was something sacred to them, and they spent more nights than not enjoying the cool breeze and staring up at the stars, holding hands. Normally, they’d be sitting in their chairs, but tonight they unfolded their picnic blanket and are sitting on it together. It reminds Quentin of the first time he kissed Eliot,  _really kissed Eliot_ , at the mosaic and makes his heart happy.

He seems to be having a lot of those moments these days, in the months and years after the Monster.

“So I was doing some reading today,” Eliot says, and Quentin takes a swig of his wine. “I read that while the when and where and how of a proposal is a surprise, the agreement to be married is not,” Eliot’s got a very casual tone in his voice, and Quentin nods.

“We talking like a business communication proposal?” Quentin quirks an eyebrow, teasing. 

Eliot nods and his eyes flit around in the way that they do when he’s trying to cover his emotions. “Yes, just like that,” He says, completely deadpan.

They sip their wine.

“I want to be married to you, Quentin,” Eliot blurts out, turning to face him. Quentin smiles, softly _,_  and covers Eliot’s hand with his own. Just the way Eliot covered his hand that night at the mosaic, except now it's Eliot going out on a limb.

“Are you sure?” Quentin asks, and Eliot nods.

“There are a lot of good reasons to not get married,” Quentin suggests.

Eliot shakes his head. “They’re still good reasons, but I also have one _really_ good reason to want to get married. And it’s because I love you,” Quentin can tell this is hard for him, but that he’s trying to be brave. He also thinks that he’s never been more in love with Eliot than this moment. “But this isn’t the proposal,” Eliot says, gesturing with his  ~~coffee~~  wine mug, before Quentin can get any ideas. “This is just the agreement. Proposal still to come,”

Quentin grins and raises his eyebrows. “Are you planning on doing the proposing? What if I wanted to propose to you?”

Eliot matches his grin and does the little wiggle that he does whenever he’s excited  ~~or turned on~~  by Quentin. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

They go ring shopping together. That seemed like the logical, adult next step. They don’t buy anything while they’re there, but they do get their fingers measured and decide they don’t want to do engagement rings. Just wedding bands. And they want to do gold, not silver. Gold because it reminds them of the golden tile and the beauty of all life and the chance to do fifty years together again. The woman behind the counter keeps asking where their girlfriends are. They ignore those questions.

Quentin talks to Margo. He’s nervous about the proposal and how to do it properly, for Eliot. So he goes to their best friend and asks how to craft the perfect Eliot Waugh proposal. But Margo rolls her eyes.

“Dipshit, Eliot doesn’t love you because you’re like him. He loves you for  _you_. A big flashy proposal isn’t very Coldwater. Do something from the heart,”  Quentin makes a face at Margo’s sincerity and Margo throws her hands up in the air. “You came to me for advice, there it is!”

Quentin still doesn’t know what he wants to do.

Eliot talks to Julia. He has absolutely no idea how to propose marriage without sounding like an idiot and he’s not sure if he should even come up with a proposal. What if Quentin wants to do the proposing? What if Quentin is expecting to be proposed to? But Julia rolls her eyes.

“You could chuck a ring box at him and he would probably burst into tears,” She says.

“Great!” Eliot says, and doesn’t feel better. So Julia purses her lips and gives him real advice.

A few weeks later, Eliot is so nervous he might throw up. He gets home before Quentin, but only because he gets off work early. When he told his boss that he was proposing to his partner that night, she squealed and practically shoved him out the door. Perks of working at a shelter for LGBT youth–they soak up the gay shit. But Eliot doesn’t complain because it gives him plenty of time to prepare. He knows that Quentin won’t be home until sunset because of meetings he has with publishers in the city, which will make his homecoming and this moment even better.

So Eliot sets up in the backyard and leaves a note on the front door. He lays out their blankets and lights their tiki torches and get his proposal gift ready and paces while he rehearses his speech. He knows Quentin will say yes, but he’s still nervous. He’s nervous that it’s not going to go perfectly or that he’ll mess it up or that Quentin will be disappointed. Which he tries to tell himself is a stupid thing to think, and then comes back with the thought that it’s not stupid and his feelings are valid. And then he thinks that being a human with emotions is exhausting.

So he waits. And the sun begins to sink into the horizon.

Eliot hears Quentin’s car pull up their driveway, hears the engine stop and the door open and close. Footsteps approaching the front door. Footsteps coming around the back. Eliot takes a deep breath and picks up his proposal present. Show time.

Quentin rounds the corner, and they both freeze. And then they both laugh. 

Because in Quentin’s hands is a bucket of peaches. 

And in Eliot’s hands is a bucket of plums.

With sheepish grin, Quentin approaches Eliot, who looks glorious in the firelight.

“Hey,” He says softly, and Eliot grins.

“Hey,” Eliot says back, and gestures with his bucket. “Peaches?”

Quentin nods. “Plums,” He answers back.

Eliot feels like his chest is going to burst from love, and the look on Q’s face says the same. They both know what’s about to happen and what this is. Quentin looks a little bit like he’s about to cry, but he’s got a smile on his face and he laughs a little bit. “Um, so, you first?”

For once in his life, Eliot doesn’t think, doesn’t doubt himself, he just crosses to Quentin and gets down on one knee and places the bucket of plums at his feet. He looks back up at Q and pushes through the urge to shy away from the wave of emotions passing over him. Not today. He’s going to be braver, just like he learned from Q. ~~Plus he’s got like a whole rehearsed speech in his head.~~

“Love is hard for me,” Eliot starts. “The idea of committing myself to someone else has always been terrifying and that fear has held me back in so many ways,” Eliot takes a breath to steady himself. “But I love you, Q. And I love getting to  _chose_  you every single day.” Quentin is definitely starting to cry a little bit, but Eliot continues. “You’ve always called me your plum,” Eliot states, “And so I give you this bucket of plums as a symbol of me giving myself to you and choosing you. Now. Tomorrow. In fifty years. Forever.”

“Oh, God, El,” Quentin chokes, bringing a hand up to his face, and Eliot can’t help but laugh.

“Q, will you marry me?” Eliot asks, and then Quentin is furiously nodding and spurting out a thousand yes, yes, yeses. He’s nodding and they’re both laughing and Eliot feels like he’s made of air.

Quentin nods and takes a deep breath. His turn now. “So destiny is bullshit,” Eliot makes a little noise in the back of his throat, remembering that day they were crowned kings.  ~~This is so much better.~~  “But you,” Quentin breaths. “You are my  _soulmate_. My lifetime love. And I want to spend the next fifty years and the next fifty years and the next eternity with you,”

Quentin looks down at his bucket of peaches, overwhelmed by emotions and bites his lip. “I wanted to give you a bucket of peaches to ask you to marry me because, to me….” He clears his throat and Eliot can see he’s trying to compose himself. “Because, um, when you died, I sent a bucket of peaches to Margo. And that same bucket of peaches is what brought us back our mosaic memories.”

Q looks at Eliot, with such hope and love and  _devotion_  in his eyes. “But now I want to use them to create a new memory, of the start of our life together,” Quentin puts the bucket down and gets down on one knee in front of Eliot, their knee caps brushing. “So will you marry me, El?”

“Fuck, yes,” There’s not even a moment’s hesitation from him and then they’re both crying and kissing and that night they feast on peaches and plums and each other.

Quentin and Eliot talk about getting married.

They want a summer, outdoor wedding under a big tree. Or maybe on a beach. They talk about whether to get married on Earth or in Fillory. Debate, more like, but they eventually decide on Earth. They buy the gold wedding rings and Margo keeps them safe until the time to actually put them on. They talk about floral arrangements and color schemes and who they want to invite. They talk to Josh about catering and spend an afternoon in Fillory, tasting the most delicious cakes in the entire multiverse. They talk to Fogg about officiating their wedding. They talk to Julia and Margo about being their Best Men. They talk about their first dance song and if they want to do personal vows or “repeat after me” vows. They talk about all things wedding related and Quentin helps Eliot keep two feet on the ground and level head about the situation and Eliot loves him for it.  _(“Where were you the last time he got married?” Margo teases.)_

Quentin and Eliot talk about the concept of marriage,  _again._

They talk about their fears and their hopes. They talk about what it’s like to be married to another man in America, and how it’s a fucking revolutionary act. They talk about what marriage means to them, and the commitment it entails. They make a specific distinction between society’s expectations of marriage and how they want to continue moving forward in their lives. They talk about the trauma they’ve endured in the last few years, and acknowledge that they still have a lot of work to go. They talk about the possibility of adopting, and expanding their little family. Because they already are a family with each other and their friends and their cat, but they want to be parents again. They talk about the ways they can best support each other when they have mental health relapses. They talk about all the ways they love each other.

Quentin and Eliot get married.

With exchange of written vows and golden bands, and with a tender kiss in front of all of their friends, they become the Coldwater-Waughs.

Quentin still thinks Coldwaughters would have been better.


	5. Here & Queer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it means to be married to another man in America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more serious and not as fluffy. But it's deeply personal to me and I think it's important. Inspired by some drama I'm goin through IRL about coming out. Since this chapter is serious and features some microagressions, if you need to skip it, you totally can. More fluff to come soon. Everything that happens in this chapter has either happened to me or someone I know. Sending love.

It’s easy for them to hold hands in the daylight. When the sun is shining and there’s tons of people around, it’s easy to have their hands clasped tightly, swinging in the breeze. It’s exhilarating, as two men, to be open about their love.

 

Nighttime is a different story. They walk side by side, hands in their pockets. There are too many terrifying stories of men just like them facing the worst case scenarios. So they keep half a foot of distance between them at night. Safety first. They can hold each other behind a locked door. 

 

Hand holding shouldn’t be such a point of tension or even something to think about, but it is. They think about it when they’re walking down the street in the middle of the afternoon and a mother pulls her child away from them. They think about it when they’re riding the subway in New York, and a tough looking guy stares at them too long. They think about it when their first instinct is to always grab the other’s hand, but they know they can’t. Not in the company they’re in. And it’s constant. And they can’t escape it.  

 

But this is their life. This is the life of most queer people, actually. This is what it means  _ to be _ queer in the world. To simply exist as themselves. To be Out feels like a quest in itself, and often an exhausting one. And they’re never really 100% out. 

 

Elliot is about as openly gay as someone can be, but he’s still in the never ending process of coming out. He has to go to physical therapy once, for his knee. It’s not a big deal, a minor muscle tear from a hiking excursion that just needs a little bit of TLC. He and his physical therapist are getting along great, chitting and chatting like there’s no tomorrow. Until she sees the golden band on his finger and asks the dreaded question: 

 

“So what does your wife do for a living?”

 

“Husband, actually,” Eliot corrects, without thinking, and pride in his voice. “He’s an author. Currently writing children’s books,”

 

She’s quiet for the rest of their session. 

 

Eliot hates that. He hates it, he hates it, he hates it. He hates that simply correcting her with that one word _ (husband)  _ is suddenly a political statement or a broken bond between them. And he doesn’t even know her, so it shouldn’t matter. 

 

But it does. It always does. 

 

Quentin is buying Eliot flowers for their anniversary one year. He’s in the flower shop, long hair messily brushing his shoulders and the lavender button up that Eliot bought him for Christmas. He’s in a good mood, fingers brushing the different flowers as he thinks on what to get his husband. _(Not roses, too cliche. Maybe lilies, or sunflowers.)_ And then he makes eye contact with a stranger and his blood freezes. The stranger is a large, muscular man with a greying beard and a red cap on his head and sneer building on his lips. At first, Quentin writes it off as his own anxieties and nervousness, but the entire time he’s moving through the shop, he’s got a pair of eyes on him. 

 

And he can’t prove that the man is watching him. And he is, in fact, assuming the worst. But he trusts the feeling in his gut that is twisting and clenching. Eliot likes to joke that every queer person has a gay-dar and a bigotry-dar, a heightened sense of paranoia used to just fucking stay  _ alive _ . And Quentin’s bigotry-dar is ringing a million alarm bells and he feels nauseous. He picks out his flowers  _ (carnations) _ and goes to the counter. The checkout girl smiles brightly at him.

 

“What’s the occasion?” She asks as she rings him up.

 

“Anniversary,” Quentin responds. “With my, uh-” 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Q can see the other man, watching him with crossed arms and a scowl. ( _ There’s no way he knows. There’s no way he would actually do anything to me, right?) _ A million thoughts rush through Quentin’s head and in that moment, he makes the safe call. 

 

“Partner. It’s my anniversary with my partner,”

 

The checkout girl comments “She’s a lucky gal,” and Q doesn’t correct her because the man is still staring at him and his palms are sweaty and he beelines to his car once he’s paid.

 

There are times when they can just exist as themselves, together. There’s a gay bar a few blocks from Eliot’s work that they like to go to sometimes. It’s a little expensive and the drinks are better down the street, but Eliot can wrap his arm around Quentin without fear. And Quentin can kiss Eliot’s knuckles without looking over his shoulder. So they keep going back.

 

There’s one weekend that Quentin and Eliot are at a farmers’ market. It’s a gorgeous sunny day and they’re picking out some fresh produce for a barbecue they’re hosting later in the week. They’re at a vendor’s table, picking out zucchini, when they suddenly hear:

 

“Quentin Coldwater, is that you?” 

 

Quentin spins on his heels and is faced with someone he went to high school with. It’s been almost ten years and he barely recognizes her _(Vickie? Victoria? Viola? Virginia? Violet?)_ but she springs forward into a hug anyway. Q shoots Eliot a wide eyed look and awkwardly hugs her back. 

 

“How’ve you been?” She asks once she pulls away.

 

“Um, great!” He stutters, caught off guard. He can feel Eliot trying not to laugh, “Uh, really good, actually. Oh, this Eliot, my husband,” Quentin does what he always does when he gets overwhelmed by fits of awkwardness, shifts the attention to Eliot. El, picking up on their little cue, steps in front of Quentin and extends his hand to the woman.

 

“Eliot Coldwater-Waugh, at your service,” Eliot announces, and Q instantly sighs in relief. El could take the awkwardness in the air and wipe it away with a charming smile. Except, the awkwardness was still there as Q’s former classmate shook his hand.

 

“Annie,” She says, slowly.  _ (Fuck, wasn’t even close.) _ “Quentin, I didn’t know you were gay,”

 

Eliot's jaw drops and Quentin thinks he wants to melt into the pavement. He also thinks he should correct her: not gay, bisexual. He also thinks he should tell her to shut the fuck up and mind her own business. And then Eliot nods, wraps his arm around his shoulder, comments that he hopes she has a very nice day, and then escorts his husband away. Quentin leans into Eliot’s touch and is grateful that they're away from that encounter. Seeing anyone from high school was bad enough, but then when they made comments like that? 

 

Sometimes the comments are so off the cuff and harmless that the speaker doesn’t even realize what just happened. Like the one time they have a nice dinner at a restaurant downtown to celebrate Eliot’s promotion. They’re dressed to the nines and feast on pasta and wine. They share a sweet desert and spend the whole night laughing. Then the waiter asks if they want separate checks. 

 

“No, together,” Eliot says, still laughing at some shitty comment Quentin made. 

 

“Aww, I wish my friends would treat me to fancy dinners!” She remarks before hustling away. 

 

They can only sigh and smile at each other. 

 

And because Q & El have such an amazing support system, sometimes they forget about the rest of the world. Both of their jobs support, and even encourage, their status as openly queer men. Their friends obviously surround them with an overwhelming level of love. They have each other, forever and ever amen. 

 

Sometimes all of that is just enough to make the pain of the rest of the world go away.

 

Until they read another headline.

 

Or another law changes.

 

Or another stranger hurls hurtful words at them.

 

Or they dare to exist as themselves in public.

 

But they always have each other. 

 

Forever and ever amen. 

 


	6. A Day in the Life pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Day in the Life for the Coldwater-Waughs, from sunrise to sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's waaaay more to this part, but I probably won't be able to get to it until after finals. And I was anxious to put some fluff out there after the seriousness of the previous chapter. So stick around to see how the rest of this day plays out!

Quentin usually wakes to the rising sun, always before Eliot, and today is no different. It’s a sleepy awakening, where the dawning light pulls him out of fuzzy dreams he doesn’t remember. It’s a warm awakening, with Quentin on his back and Eliot curled up into him and Eliot’s long arm draped across him. Eliot would never admit it, but he was such a cuddler. And he loved wrapping himself up in Quentin’s arms, feeling safe and warm. Quentin liked holding him, too, getting to provide a safe home for his lover after everything they’ve been through.

 

These thoughts are all way too emotional for a man that hasn’t had his first cup of coffee, so he presses a chaste kiss to Eliot’s forehead and slips out from underneath him. Eliot moans softly at the loss of his pillow and his pillow’s warmth, but it take two seconds for him to roll over onto his actual pillow and fall asleep again. Quentin lightly tucks their comforter over Eliot’s shoulders and watches the steady rise and fall of Eliot’s chest.

 

Quentin quietly shuts their bedroom door behind him, and is instantly greeted by Mini Margo-rita rubbing against his feet. He leans down and scratches behind her ears before allowing her to lead him to her food bowl.  _ Just as needy as the real Margo _ , he thinks fondly while filling up the bowl with kitty kibble. He hasn’t talked to Margo in a while. Maybe he’ll send her a bunny and invite her to the barbecue they’re hosting this weekend. It’s for Quentin’s work, a bunch of agents, publishers, editors, and other book type people are coming over to celebrate Quentin landing an actual publishing deal.

 

He makes the mental note while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. He’s got quite a bit of scruff going right now, but he resists the instinct to shave it off. He likes the change. Besides, Quentin is growing his hair long again, and the scruff looks good with the long hair. And he’s growing it out not because he’s hiding behind it anymore, but just because he likes the way it looks. He thinks it looks good in his little man bun and when it’s down it makes him look queer, and he likes expressing that part of himself. And he likes it with Eliot plays with it. And pulls it.  Today it goes up in the bun. 

 

Quentin pulls out one of his nice button downs that Eliot got him and gets dressed for the day. He’s got a meeting with his publishing company this afternoon, so he wants to look sharp. And it’s a nice shirt, a sold forest green and a smooth material. He knows next to nothing about clothing, but Eliot always seems to get him the perfect clothing. _(Except that one time he thought Quentin would look good in a beret. They don’t talk about that.)_

 

Breakfast is next. Since Quentin normally got up before El, he normally made their morning meal. Not that he would trust Eliot to make it, anyway. Eliot is a  _ fantastic _ cook when it comes to complex five star and five course meals that require expensive ingredients and are photograph worthy. Eliot can make food that would make professional chefs jealous, but he has no idea how to cook just like….normal food. Risotto? Check. Lobster? Done. Scrambled eggs and toast? Not a chance.

 

But that’s where Quentin excels.

 

As someone who has been dealing with depression for most of his life, Quentin knows how to make bare minimum meals taste amazing. There were points in his life where he could barely get out of bed, so feeding himself had to be as low effort as possible. As he’s gotten better over the years, he’s been able to take what he’s learned and improve it so that it’s better than undergrad dorm food. This means that he makes the world’s best mac and cheese and various breakfast foods. 

 

This morning, Quentin puts his culinary skills to the test, for no other reason than….he wants to. He whips out the bacon, the sunny side up eggs, the toast, and the blueberries, just for the hell of it. He’s cooking up a whole spread of goodness when his sleepy husband stumbles into the kitchen. Eliot comes up behind Quentin and wraps his arms around him, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder and hums a good morning. Quentin laughs and entwines one hand with Eliot’s and uses the other to keep poking the bacon.

 

“You woke up to the bacon smell, didn’t you?” Quentin says, and Eliot makes an agreement noise. Eliot couldn’t _(wouldn’t?)_ speak until he had his first cup of coffee for the day, so most mornings were practically one sided conversations in the most adorable way. “Your coffee is on the counter, El,” Quentin whispers, nuzzling back into his love. Eliot makes a noise of excitement and appreciation. He squeezes Quentin’s hand three times  _ (“I love you”)  _ before letting him go and groggily going over to the coffee.

 

There’s a comfortable silence in the kitchen as Eliot sits at their island and Quentin dishes up their breakfast. He takes his seat next to Eliot and they eat. Eliot hums his approval of the food, and Quentin responds by brushing hair out of Eliot’s face. It’s a small moment shared between them, but one that strikes Quentin in the chest with a happy little twinge. If you had told him ten years ago that he would be a  _ Magician _ cooking breakfast for his  _ husband _ , he would have laughed. Magic being real? A life of domesticity? Someone good and true loving him? It all sounds too good to be true, like a happy little fantasy. But now, this was his reality. His normal. And he wouldn’t trade it for the world, because it  _ is _ his world. 

 

“Are you still good for dinner tonight with Julia?” Quentin asks while popping a blueberry in his mouth. Eliot hums a positive response through a bite of toast and Quentin nods. 

 

“Today is our Sunday Lunch at the shelter,” Eliot speaks for the first time this morning.

 

“Right. Need me to be there?” Quentin asks, and Eliot shakes his head.

 

“No, I don’t think so. You got the paper plates at the store the other day, right?” 

 

“Yeah, they’re in the living room next to the couch,”

 

Eliot sips his coffee. Quentin cuts into his eggs. 

 

Quentin chuckles to himself. Eliot raises an eyebrow. 

 

“It’s just….” Quentin says, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards, “Five years ago, we were worried about the fate of the world. And now…” He shrugs, and the smile becomes more prominent. “I gotta say, I like this better,”

 

“Someone’s feeling nostalgic today,” Eliot comments, pointing his fork.

 

“Damn right,” Quentin swoops in and gives Eliot a quick peck before clearing his dishes to sink. “I gotta go if I’m gonna make it to my meeting on time,” Quentin begins putting away the mess in the kitchen, but Eliot waves his hand.

 

“I’ll take care of it, Q. You cooked, I’ll clean,” Eliot shoves the last bit of bacon down before clearing his own dishes to the sink while Quentin grabs his jacket and keys. “What time is dinner tonight? Seven?”

 

“Yeah, but I’ll be home before then,” Quentin slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. 

 

Eliot leans in to kiss Quentin deeply before he leaves, not letting him get away with one little peck. Eliot’s gonna kiss his husband  _ right _ before sending him off into the world. Quentin rubs his thumb on Eliot’s check and they grin at each other the way they do when it’s early in the morning and neither of them are fully awake. Eliot’s heart flutters at the love in Quentin’s eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it.

 

Quentin pulls away and heads towards their magic door to New York City. 

 

“Peaches!” He calls over his shoulder  _ (“I love you.”) _

  
“Plums!” Eliot calls back.  _ (“I love you, too.”) _


End file.
